Chapter 4

Ava's POV:

I stood there, staring straight into John's eyes.

Those eyes that once made me fall for him now only felt strange.

"You can think whatever you want," John said.

"Okay."

I heard my own voice, very calm.

I was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly understood.

He was getting back at me.

Getting back at me for interviewing in London.

Or maybe for taking Joanna's place.

John's expression froze for a moment, as if he hadn't expected me to agree so readily.

He stared at me for a few seconds, something unclear flashing in his eyes, then let out a cold laugh.

"At least you know what's good for you."

He pulled out his phone from his pocket and called HR right in front of me.

"Process Ava's resignation today. Termination. Compensation according to company policy."

Someone on the other end responded, he hung up, put his phone away, and looked at me coldly.

"Go back home. Joanna's moving in tomorrow. Clean out the guest room next to the master bedroom in advance."

"Okay." I nodded and turned to leave.

After two steps, my phone buzzed.

It was a message from someone in HR.

"Ms. Davis, Mr. Williams just called saying he wants to fire you. What's going on? Did you offend him?"

I leaned against the hallway wall, looking down as I typed, "It's fine, just do what he said."

"But termination means compensation. Should I try to negotiate for you?"

"No need, just follow the rules."

After sending that message, I put my phone away and walked out of the hospital.

The sun outside was still glaring. I raised my hand to shield my eyes and hailed a cab home.

When I pushed open the front door, there were several cardboard boxes piled in the hallway.

The butler was directing the servants to move things out. When he saw me come in, a flash of embarrassment crossed his face.

"Ms. Davis, Mr. Williams instructed us to move your things to the first floor."

I looked at him, didn't ask why. "Move them where?"

The butler avoided my gaze, his voice slightly unnatural. "That room on the west side of the first floor."

"Okay." I followed him calmly.

That room was at the far west end of the main building. It used to be for servants, then had been vacant for a long time.

The moment I pushed open the door, a damp, musty smell hit me in the face.

The room was tiny.

A single bed, an old wardrobe, a window facing the backyard.

The backyard housed John's two German Shepherds. The kennel was right next to the window, and a foul smell drifted in through the window cracks.

The butler stood at the door, his lips moving, wanting to say something but holding back. "Ms. Davis, should I talk to Mr. Williams..."

"No need." I put my bag on the bed and looked around. "This is fine."

The butler sighed and left.

I sat on the edge of the bed. The board was hard, hurting my bones. My lower abdomen started aching again. I pressed it with my hand, cold sweat breaking out on my forehead.

It had only been three days since the abortion, and I'd barely rested.

Handling the press conference, appeasing Mason, interviewing, going to the hospital, moving—my body was like a taut string, ready to snap at any moment.

I lay down and closed my eyes.

The blanket smelled musty, the pillow was thin, and even after flipping it over, it was still uncomfortable.

The dogs outside barked twice, the sound of their paws scratching the ground coming through the wall.

I turned on my side and curled up.

Suddenly I remembered the first year after marrying John, when I had a high fever once.

He was rarely home. I was delirious with fever, grabbing his sleeve, asking him not to leave.

He looked down at me, pulled his sleeve away, and said, "So dramatic."

Then he left. The sound of the door closing was soft, just like what I'd heard in the study today.

After that, I never showed weakness in front of him again.

The next morning, I was woken by pounding on the door.

"Ava, are you still sleeping?"

It was Joanna's voice.

I opened my eyes. My head hurt like it was splitting open.

My forehead was burning hot, my whole body ached, my bones felt like they were filled with lead.

I propped myself up on the bed and looked at my phone.

Six fifteen.

It wasn't even fully light yet.

The knocking continued, like a death knell.

"Hurry up, John wants to drink the porridge I'm making. Where's the kitchen?"

I got out of bed, my legs went weak, I almost fell to my knees, barely managing to steady myself against the wall.

I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Joanna stood at the door in a silk nightgown with John's shirt draped over it.

She looked me up and down and frowned. "Why do you look so awful?"

"The kitchen is on the east side of the first floor." I didn't answer her question, my voice terribly hoarse.

She snorted and walked away.

I changed clothes, washed my face. The person in the mirror looked terrible.

When I came out of the room, Joanna was sitting on the sofa, directing the servants to clean.

"Clean that corner too, and the curtains—take them all down and wash them. Oh, and move that pothos plant, I'm allergic to pollen."

The servants were running around frantically. When they saw me come out, their expressions were complicated.

I went to the kitchen and started preparing breakfast.

My hands were shaking as I rinsed the rice, the cold water stinging my fingers.

I put the clay pot on the stove, turned on the heat, and leaned against the counter waiting for the water to boil.

A sharp pain shot through my lower abdomen. I bit my lip, my fingers gripping the edge of the marble counter.

"Is the porridge ready?" John's voice came from behind me.

He'd just showered, his hair still a bit wet.

Joanna was holding his arm, leaning intimately on his shoulder, looking blissfully happy, completely ignoring my presence.

"Almost," I said flatly, my face expressionless.

John glanced at me, his gaze staying on my face for less than a second before moving away. "Joanna can't eat seafood. Don't put shrimp in the porridge."

"Okay," I replied perfunctorily, not even giving them a look.

Just hold on a little longer, and I'll be free.

Perhaps seeing I didn't want to talk, John inexplicably snorted coldly and left with Joanna.

Their figures disappeared at the dining room entrance.

I pressed my lips together, turned around, and continued watching the porridge in the pot.

The rice grains tumbled in the boiling water, gradually softening.

Twenty minutes later, I brought the porridge to the table.

Joanna scooped up a spoonful, and just as she brought it to her mouth, her expression changed. "There's shrimp in this porridge?"

I was stunned. "No, there isn't."

"I can definitely taste it!" She slammed the spoon on the table, tears coming instantly. "John, she did it on purpose. She knows I'm allergic to seafood. She's trying to kill me and the baby!"

John put down his chopsticks, picked up the bowl and smelled it, his face darkening.

He looked up at me, his eyes cold as ice. "Ava, when did you become so vicious?"

Me, vicious?

I almost wanted to laugh, but I was also tired. I explained calmly, "I didn't put in any shrimp."

"There are shrimp shells in the kitchen trash can," Joanna said through her tears. "I saw them just now."

John had decided it was me. Nothing I said would make any difference.

"To keep your position, you really will stop at nothing."

John stood up, each word like a knife.

I lowered my head and said nothing more, though my mouth was full of bitterness.

John left with Joanna, and the dining room suddenly became quiet.

I went to the kitchen and looked at the trash can. There were shrimp shells in it.

They must have been left over from the servants making dinner last night, not yet cleaned up this morning.

But it didn't matter anymore.

When I got back to the servant's room, I couldn't hold on any longer. I collapsed on the bed, feeling completely drained.

My forehead was burning hot, but I had no strength to look for fever medicine.

The dogs outside barked again, the sound sharp and deafening.

I remembered now—this servant's room was right next to the kennel.